


2014-04-30

by metacarpal



Series: Farnham [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, stupid apartment AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 21:41:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1565039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metacarpal/pseuds/metacarpal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jean is bored so Marco takes him to the store and they do other stuff that dumb, star-struck idiots do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	2014-04-30

Jean groaned loudly as he entered the room. He kicked his leg up and flopped down on the couch, expressing his distaste for the boring day.

Marco, who was seated at the other end of the couch, now underneath Jean’s leg, closed the book he’d been reading, and looked to his boyfriend quizzically. “Are you alright?”

“Mmm… Well, it’s nearly four thirty and I have done absolute shit all today.” Jean grumbled.

“Ahh.” Marco mused. “Farnham.”

Jean shot Marco a confused stare. “Farnham?”

“Farnham. It’s the feeling you get around four o’clock in the afternoon when you haven’t done enough.” Marco grinned, which in turn caused Jean to smile as well.

Jean rolled his eyes. “Where do you find this stuff?”

“My mom made me read the dictionary when I was little. It’s a noun that Douglas Adams and John Loyd came up with, I think. I could be wrong, though, it’s been a while. I remember it because I thought it was such a funny word when I was, like, 10.” Marco smiled down into his lap, which Jean’s leg rested on. He leaned over and set his book down on the coffee table in front of him. “If you’re really that bored, we can do something.”

“Oh?” Jean’s amber eyes lit up, and he lifted his head to get a better view of Marco causing the longer, mouse brown hair on the top of his head to slide off of the couch’s arm rest. “What do you have in mind?” He smirked suggestively.

Marco chuckled and playfully shoved Jean’s leg off of his lap so he could stand up. “I don’t know. We could go  _out._ ” This earned him an unenthused sigh from Jean that only made Marco smile more. He looked so cute, with bedhead – even at four thirty in the afternoon – dressed in sweat pants and a loose fitting t-shirt that was currently riding up his torso exposing a bit of his muscular stomach. Obviously, his bedtime attire which hadn’t been changed all day.

Jean watched Marco intently as he stood up and stretched. Jean marveled at the tall boy standing in front of him. The perfect curve of his back as he attempted to relieve his aching muscles. The freckles that danced along almost every inch of his skin, his arms, his legs, his cheeks, they even poked out onto his neck from the collar of his shirt. His dark brown hair was perfectly parted, down the middle as always.

“What’re you looking at?” Marco joked, staring Jean down from the corner of his eye.

“Ehh, nothing.” Jean averted his eyes to the ceiling, feeling his face grow warm and red.

Marco let out an airy laugh. He came back into Jean’s vision from above his head. He bent down and planted a quick kiss on Jean’s forehead. “Go get dressed. We’ll go to the store and get things for dinner.” Marco spoke, as he left the living room to assess the food situation in the kitchen.

Jean became instantly excited. He loved Marco’s cooking; authentic Italian, something he picked up after many years spent with his grandma after school. He leapt up from the couch and darted to the bedroom, changing his clothes at a record speed.

The trip to the grocery store was quick, and for the most part, easy; thanks to Marco. He had delegated the job of finding cheese to Jean.  _Simple enough,_ Jean thought to himself. Wrong. It was far from simple. Not only did it take 10 minutes to so much as find the cheese, once he got to it, there were so many choices. “What kind of cheese do you even put in ravioli?” Jean hissed under his breath, while leaning towards to cheese selection, squinting as he read the names and tapping his lip with his index finger. He knew less than nothing about cooking, he barely ever touched the stove.

Just then he felt Marco press himself to Jean’s back, and Jean indulged Marco’s warmth. “How’s it going?” Marco asked, before he delicately kissed the back of Jean’s neck.

“Swell.” Jean’s face instantly got hot and he looked down at the floor.

“That’s good.” Marco reached over Jean’s shoulder, grabbed a tub of ricotta cheese, and put it in his basket, knowing well enough that Jean would never pick the right cheese by himself. “Well, now that that’s done, we need eggs. Come with me to get eggs.” Marco took Jean’s hand, and the pair finished shopping, paid and went home.

Marco got to work right away. Jean took a seat at their small kitchen table, built for two people and two people only. He propped his head up with his hand and watched Marco gracefully chop and stir until dinner was ready. His movement in the kitchen was graceful, like he was completely in his element. Jean found it just plain attractive. If it wouldn’t result in burnt sauce and wasted food, Jean would drag Marco off to the bedroom and have his way with him. Jean let those thoughts fester until six-thirty when Marco carried over their two plates of ricotta ravioli with red sauce. “It doesn’t look too pretty,” Marco said as he took his seat. “But I know it tastes great.” He smiled.

Jean remembered the first time Marco cooked for him, they were 16; 5 years ago. He made macaroni and cheese. Nothing special to Marco, but it meant a lot to Jean. He remembered being in awe – he still was – but now it was a regular thing. “It looks beautiful.” Jean muttered, barely audible to most people however Marco had adapted enough to be able to hear Jean at all times.

Marco smiled widely, and motioned for Jean to pick up his fork and dig in – which Jean did.

Once dinner was finished, Jean cleaned up. This time is was Marco’s turn to watch and admire. Jean was always so particular about the way things were done. He had a check list of things that needed to be done and he did them, one after the other, the exact same way every single time. Marco watched him rinse off the used plates, forks and other utensils and put them in the dishwasher. Then he filled the sink with warm, soapy water. Marco smiled at the way Jean’s nose instantly wrinkled up when he accidentally touched wet food. He always watched Jean tidy up and he memorized every movement of his body; the way his muscles tensed as he vigorously scrubbed the stuck on food from their cheap pans, the way his eyebrows furrowed slightly in concentration, and the way his lips were pressed tightly into a straight line. Often Marco would kiss Jean’s firm lips after he was done cleaning and drag his tongue alone the bottom of Jean’s lower lip until his mouth would open, allowing Marco access so he could massage Jean’s tongue with his. Marco became lost in his head until Jean finished cleaning, and he leaned against the counter, facing him.

“So, Jean,” Marco started, slightly flustered from his previous mental engagement. “How ‘bout some dessert?”

           

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this. It’s the first thing I’m making public and I’m somewhat proud of it. Criticisms are welcome, encouraged actually. I’m going to write a part 2 as soon as I figure out how to write a decent sex scene.


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